I pointed at the waitress’s notebook – “my dear: not camembert, he said ‘calamars’, and he’s dairy-free not charcuterie, and that’s a leaf salad, and – and –”

“Oh, tho you thee,” he said, ignoring the hopeless situation he had created, trying not to perturb the simulacrum of fitting in with the English. He was charming.

“You thee, I’m vewwy forward, cannot thtand bad thervice, if there’th a charge, I’m not paying; have you ever walked out of a restaurant without paying?”

He continued, “hath you ever theen a man die before? I hath, two or three timesth. The lasth was in a plane to New York, and thisth man – thisth man –”

“On a plane? My god.”

“Yesth – a heart attack. It wasth actually quite funny.”

I turned in aversion.

“Oh yesth. Oh it wasth. Tho he was thitting there with his family – no noticeth for anyone of courseth, that’sth life for you, all health before he got on. And he hasth thisth heart attack and they announce for a doctor, and thomeone getsth up, and triesth, but he passthed away becauseth he didn’t have da –, da –” he gestured.

“Defibrillator?”

“Yesth, that. Anyway, the family were justh there like thisth –” he pulled a blank, motionless face, quite funny.

“Anyway, tho no one could go to the bathroom for like five hoursth, to clear the way in caseth they needed the corridor for the man, it wasth tho funny, everyone around me thaying they were bursthting for the bathroom, and all these Americansth thtarted holding handsth and praying, and I wasth justh thitting there trying to watch my film.”

“So what happened?”

“Oh, tho he passthed, they dwagged him down the corridor – really! really! – away from Busthness Classth, tho respectiful, they couldn’t have a – a – ‘corpseth’ (Yeth? A ‘corpseth’?) by Busthness Classth could they?, tho they dwagged him and put him by the bathroomsth, and still no one wasth allowed to go, and they put a curtain over him, right where I was thitting, but it wasth too short the curtain – no, not joking! right where I wasth thitting! – and histh feet were thticking out at the bottom all the way over the Atlantic. And thstill I couldn’t go to the bathroom.”

Coq d’Argent has a rooftop bar at No. 1 Poultry, Bank EC2R 8EJ

Further Reads

Matthew MacLachlan has studied and lurked in London for several years. He previously worked for The Week magazine and has written for History Review and The Jakarta Post. He is a lawyer and a broadcaster, and lives in Shad Thames.